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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836820">Polaroids</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/avameow/pseuds/avameow'>avameow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>you're lost at sea, then I'll command your boat to me again [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Bottom Steve Harrington, Hurt Steve Harrington, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sending nudes I guess lmao, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington-centric, Top Billy Hargrove, polaroids</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:40:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/avameow/pseuds/avameow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve had given Billy the camera the night before his trip back to California. It was Steves’ dads, a Christmas present from the year before - used once, then stuffed in the back of a cupboard somewhere. Billy had grinned, turning the camera over in his hands, before pointing the lens at Steve.</p><p>‘Don’t!’</p><p>Too late, the flash momentarily blinded Steve in his bedroom, lights dimmed. Billy had cackled, as the camera hummed and spilled out a photograph. Steve rolled his eyes and collapsed back onto the pillows.</p><p>‘I said not to waste the film.’ Steve whined. ‘I wanna see pictures of you, not me.’</p><p>Billy shook the picture in the air, letting it develop. ‘Who says this is for you?’</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>you're lost at sea, then I'll command your boat to me again [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>309</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. No Envelope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first Polaroid arrives on a Thursday morning, taped to the back of a postcard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Greetings from Long Beach </em>on the front, a picture of Billy crudely taped next to Steves’ address on the back.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve had given Billy the camera the night before his trip back to California. It was Steves’ dads, a Christmas present from the year before - used once, then stuffed in the back of a cupboard somewhere. Billy had grinned, turning the camera over in his hands, before pointing the lens at Steve.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>‘Don’t!’</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Too late, the flash momentarily blinded Steve in his bedroom, lights dimmed. Billy had cackled, as the camera hummed and spilled out a photograph. Steve rolled his eyes and collapsed back onto the pillows.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I said not to waste the film.’ Steve whined. ‘I wanna see pictures of you, not me.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy shook the picture in the air, letting it develop. ‘Who says this is for you?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The developing picture had shown the faint outline of Steve, shirtless and sat up in his bed, lips swollen and hair standing up in place. Billy had crawled over to Steve, flashing the Polaroid at him before tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You’ve got to promise to take pictures’ Steve had said softly, looking up at Billy with wide eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I will, pretty boy.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve chews on a nail as he turns the postcard over in his hand. Billy has taken a photo of himself, his lips parted around three of his fingers, eyes half lidded, chin tilted up towards the camera. Below the photo, Billy had written <em>‘miss you’</em> in neat cursive.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve groans to himself, thinking about how many postal workers must have seen this photo being delivered to his parents house. Hawkins is a small town. Steve hides the Polaroid carefully under his mattress, not that anyone’s around to find it. The anxiety’s still there.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He mentally kicks himself for not explicitly telling Billy to include a return address, or even a phone number, just <em>some </em>way to hear his voice. Then he remembers that Billy’s probably crashing at one of his friends’ places. Even then, what would Steve <em>say </em>to him?<em> I miss you too? Come back to me? I love you?</em> He cringes inwardly. Like Billy would even <em>want</em> to hear that.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Steve spirals, he thinks about how much more he cares about Billy than Billy does in return. That Billy’s just keeping him on his toes. That when he comes back, he knows that Steve’s a sure thing. He starts to wonder why Billy’s even gone back to California - to see old hookups? To realise how much better everything is out there? To leave Steve behind?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A week passes, Steve works, Steve comes home, Steve drinks. He calls Robin and mopes, practically hearing her roll her eyes through the phone.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An envelope comes this time, with two Polaroids inside it. The first is of Billy on the beach. He’s asleep, the side of his face resting on his hands. Steve can almost make out the cover of the book propped open next to Billy’s face. He looks so relaxed, at peace and effortlessly beautiful. This is where Billy deserves to be, somewhere with a permanent summer, not Indiana. Steve lets himself wonder who took the photo, lets himself really wallow in those pangs of jealously, followed by guilt. He’s supposed to <em>trust </em>Billy, on some level. They had been doing this <em>thing</em> for months<em>, </em>where Billy creeps in through the sliding doors after Steves’ parents goes to bed, comes to find Steve in his room, and slide into bed behind him, sometimes roughly shaking Steve by the shoulder awake, sometimes just pulling Steve close, nose pressed up against the crook of his neck. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second picture is Billy again, this time a self portrait. He’s in front of a mirror, wearing a white shirt that’s tight around his biceps, hair tucked behind one ear. He’s holding the camera to his chest, his gaze not on the camera lens, but his own reflection. He’s not smiling, he’s almost pouting. It’s strange to see Billy trying, so <em>obviously </em>posing. Steve smirks to himself as he thinks about how many shots Billy took of himself before he settled on this one. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He slowly strokes his thumb over Billys face. Billy looks soft. Like when Steve woke up to Billy watching him quietly early one morning, before he had to leave. Steve had wiped at the wet corner of his own mouth, blushing and swallowing before trying to turn away. Billy had placed a firm hand on Steves bicep, silently telling him to settle, before pulling Steve back against his chest. Billy had tucked his chin over Steves shoulder and placed a soft kiss to Steve’s cheek, still flushed. Billy’s arm slung over Steve’s waist, his hand finding Steves and squeezing softly. ‘I’ve got a couple hours yet, sweetheart’ Billy breathed against his throat. Steve had made a small noise in response, eyelids drooping, pulling Billy closer around him before slipping back into sleep. It had surprised Steve, when all of this began, how <em>gentle</em> Billy could be. Balanced with how fiercely protective, how strong, how<em> brave </em>he was. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy hadn’t written on the back of these ones. So when Steve’s having another bad night, pacing around his empty house, clenching and unclenching his jaw, he make up his own narrative. He believes that Billy has decided to stay in California - because why <em>would </em>he come back to Hawkins - and to add insult to injury, Billy has decided to remind him what he’s missing out on. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve feels out of place, in limbo. He doesn’t feel right without Billy in Indiana, but he doesn’t believe that he belongs in California with Billy either. He wonders what Billy ever saw in him, if at all. He doesn’t do well in the sun. It comes from his mother, anxiously fussing over his skin, checking over his neck and shoulders for new moles. He <em>likes</em> the Indiana winters, likes feeling the frost against his face. His mother tells him that despite sharing his complexion, he takes after his father. There’s no yearning for the climate of the old country. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remembers watching Billy experience his first winter in Hawkins, wearing just a denim jacket in 20 degree weather. He told everyone he <em>runs hot</em>. The year after, between when they were beating the shit out of each other to whatever it is they have now, Steve gave Billy a sheepskin lined jacket. Well, <em>lent</em> him a sheepskin lined jacket. It was expensive, but ultimately replaceable. He was happy to give it to Billy, it had suited him. Steve had asked himself is he’ll ever stop developing strange maternal instincts.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy had worn the coat begrudgingly at first, snatching it out of Steve’s hands all <em>I’m not your charity case, Harrington. </em>But in the following days the temperature had dropped so rapidly that Steve saw Billy wearing the coat constantly, his hands shoved deep inside the pockets.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy wasn’t made for Indiana, and Steve wasn’t made for anywhere out of it - his grades made sure of that. Whilst everyone his age was leaving for college, Steve was working. Wearing his stupid sailor uniform and telling everyone who asked that he had decided to get some <em>real life experience</em> before going off to college. He felt pathetic, even Billy had left Hawkins, and he hadn’t even graduated yet.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve goes to sleep with the pictures under his pillow. No one’s around to find them. Even if his parents<em> did</em> stumble across the shirtless pictures of a boy in Steve’s room, they’d just be confirming what they already expected of him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last Polaroid comes maybe a week after. A blurry shot of the Camaro dashboard, a wide open road spread out through the windshield. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>‘Be back next week.’</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This one, Steve props up against the lamp on his bedside table. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Don't Sweat It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve arrives back from work to find the Camaro parked in his driveway. His heart feels like it’s jumped into his throat. He’s fumbling to get the keys out of his car, running up the driveway to open the door.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Immediately, he notices the bottle caps left on the otherwise spotless kitchen counter. He can’t help but smile as he jogs up the stairs two at a time, turning the corner to see Billy leaning against Steves bedroom doorframe, hips cocked. He’s tanned, <em>glowing. </em>He looks blonder than usual, brighter, as if California came back with him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Hey, princess.’ Billy drawls, grinning, all canines. Steve’s trying to hide how pleased he is to see him under a put on pout. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Are you gonna let me in my room?’ Steve asks petulantly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy snorts, one hand reaching out, quickly finding its way under Steves uniform to rest an open palm in the dip of Steves waist, tugging him closer. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Oh, I’ll let you in your room’ Billy lowly murmurs. ‘You got something for me first?’ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve flushes, back arching into Billy, preening under the skin on skin contact he’s missed over the past month. He widens his eyes, looking up at Billy through his lashes. He knows how to look small, how to manipulate people into going easy on him. Girls, teachers, his own parents most of the time. Steve pushes himself into Billys space, moving his hands to clutch at Billys shoulders, tilting to kiss him softly on the mouth. ‘I missed you’ he says quietly against Billy’s lips.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy moves back slightly, tilting his head to slowly look over Steve’s face, as if Billy was cataloging any changes that had happened during their time apart. Satisfied, he tugs Steve closer again, squeezing at his soft waist, thumbs stroking slowly over Steve’s stomach. ‘You gonna show me how much, kitten?’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve snorts, pulling away. ‘One of those beers better had been for me.’ He moves past Billy, into his room. He crawls across the bed to lay down on his front, head resting on the backs of his hands. His eyes catch Billys Polaroids on display, and he quickly goes to shove them in his bedside drawer.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Too late, I saw them already’ Billy says, kneeling at the edge of the bed, grabbing each of Steves calves in his hands. Steve whines, looking over his shoulder at Billy as he starts massaging the back of Steves’ legs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You touch yourself to them?’ Billy asks, looking down at Steve. He blushes, tenses and shakes his head. ‘Liar.’ Billy yanks Steves ankles, pulling him down the bed. Steve gasps as he watches over his shoulder Billy settle over his hips, he had forgotten how strong Billy is. He moans softly at the feeling of Billy pressing him down into the bed.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I asked you a question, sweetheart, remember?’ Billy purrs. ‘You gonna show me how much you missed me?’ Steve nods, wriggling to turn onto his back under Billy, hands reaching up to grab at Billys shoulders. Billy lets Steve pull him down to smear their mouths together. It’s wet and messy. Steves hands tangling in Billys hair. He smells of salt, of fresh ocean air. He smells like Billy, amplified. Steve hooks an ankle around Billys leg and rolls them over, Steve sat in Billys' lap. Steve breaks away to look down at Billy.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Why didn’t you let me call?’ Steve asks ‘You should have given me a number.’ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy reaches up to start fidgeting with Steves shirt collar, eyes glancing between his hands and making eye contact with Steve.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I didn’t want your parents to see the bill-‘</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Billy’ Steve says sternly. ‘You know they wouldn’t give a shit. Why didn’t you send more photos?’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy drops his hand and sighs. ‘There wasn’t really anything that interesting that I wanted to show you’ he mumbles, eyes suddenly focused on something else over Steves shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘But I wanted to see you’ Steve swallows, his hands moving from Billys chest to his own thighs. Billy huffs, trying to wriggle out from under Steve. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You’re so needy.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve cringes at himself. He knows that it’s only an off-hand comment from Billy. But Steve knows that he<em> is. </em>He’s lonely. He feels like Billy’s his only anchor, his only motivation to get up and go to work each day, knowing that he can come home and find Billy waiting. He’s got a little fantasy where he saves up enough money and puts down a deposit on <em>somewhere</em>, for him<em> and</em> Billy. Anywhere but Hawkins. He knows it’s stupid, knows that as soon as Billy gradates he’s going to dump Steves ass and get the hell out of the Midwest. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve feels so overwhelmed so quickly. He’s getting off of Billy, crawling away clumsily to the other side of the bed, still in his stupid uniform. He feels ridiculous, embarrassed, and before he knows it he’s gulping down breaths of air and sobbing them back up, cheeks wet, the heels of his palms coming up to press against his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy bewildered for a second, before sitting up and reaching out to grip at Steves ankle, squeezing gently. He scoots closer. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve doesn’t stop crying, burying his face in his arms, knees drawing up to curl in on himself. He knows that he’s being <em>loud</em>, knows that he’s an ugly crier, knows that he has <em>no right</em> to be upset. Billy can do what he wants, Billy deserves that. Steve’s had every opportunity given to him on a silver platter and he’s still managed to fuck everything up.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Baby?’ Billy’s murmuring, hands resting gingerly on Steves knees. Steve whines, sucks in a few breaths, blinks and swallows. ‘Can you talk to me? What’s going on?’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve looks up. His eyelashes are clumped together, cheeks mottled red, his nose running a little.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Do you want to go back to California?’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘All the time, ‘course.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve whines, a high pitched thing, before tucking his chin back down into his chest.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘What’s <em>wrong </em>with you?’ Billy’s getting frustrated.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘It’s so fucking stupid.<em> I’m </em>so fucking stupid.’ Steve sighs, lifting his head up and taking a deep breath in through his nose. ‘I wanna just — <em>leave.</em> I can’t go to California ‘cause I’d fucking<em> die</em>, okay? But I’ve saved up some cash, it’s not much but we could <em>leave</em>. Leave Hawkins and just stay together and just <em>be</em>, you know?’ He’s gesticulating with his hands, the way that he normally does when he’s talking through his feelings. ‘And I know you think this is fucking pathetic, but it feels like you’re the only constant in all of this. In my parents not caring, in my stupid dead end job,in everyone leaving me, all the time. God, I’m just so fucking <em>lonely.</em>’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy blinks at him. ‘Who said you’d die in Cali?’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve huffs out something like a laugh, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. ‘I can’t deal with the heat. My mom says it’s not good for my skin.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You could stand to get a little tan, Steve.’ Billy smiles weakly. ‘Besides, not all of California is hot.’ Billy moves so his back is resting against the headboard, opening his legs and patting his thighs in a gesture asking Steve to come and settle between them. Steve crawls over, sniffing and fussing as he gets comfortable. Resting the back of his head against Billys shoulder, tilting his head slightly to look up at Billy. He feels Billys big hands come to rest on his stomach, stroking soothingly over his uniform.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I’ll take you out there, next time I go, hm?’ Billy murmurs into Steves ear. ‘We can crash at my friends place.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I don’t <em>want</em> to crash. I want to live with you, I want a place of our own.’ Steve whines, breath speeding, tears threatening to spill over again.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy rolls his eyes, he can’t help it. ‘Can you quit acting like a princess?’ He spits despite himself. Sighing, he soothes a hand over Steves stomach apologetically. ‘I gotta graduate first.’ He softly adds.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steves nodding and blinking slowly, resting the side of his face against Billys shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Seems like you’ve had a long day princess. Do you wanna shower?’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Yeah’ Steve says weakly. “Sorry for getting so upset.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Don’t sweat it.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy moves them into the bathroom, turning on the shower with one hand as the other rubs gentle circles into Steves’ back. Once Steve is in the shower, Billy gets Steve his sweatpants and and an old t-shirt, leaving them on the bathroom counter.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy gets changed into an old band shirt from the stack of his clothes he keeps in Steves closet. It’s worn around the collar, a few holes in the left sleeve from being washed too often. It’s Steves favourite, Billy had caught him wearing it a few times when Billy had come over unannounced. Saw Steve open the door, look at Billy and awkwardly try to lie and play it off as <em>‘laundry day, man’ </em>as he blushed, not meeting Billy’s eye. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve came out over the bathroom, dressed in the clothes Billy gave him, hair damp. He smiles as he sees Billy’s gotten into his bed, stretched out wide with the sheets pulled around him. Billys bottom lip between his teeth as he reads from a battered book he must have brought with him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You comfortable?’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy looks up at Steve in the doorway. ‘More comfortable than I’ve been in weeks.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shall I leave you to it?” Steve asks, smiling weakly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You better get your ass over here right now, princess.” Billy purrs, tossing the book to the side table, reaching his arms out towards Steve, beckoning him forward with both hands. Steve goes to him, getting under the sheets and right into Billys space. Letting himself be immersed in Billys warmth, all heavy limbs and the smell of the ocean, Billy pressing him down into the soft sheets. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Missed you so much” Steve murmured in the crook of Billys neck. “Missed you, missed this.” Steve still wasn’t great at verbalising feelings, he still thought he was better than Billy. But it’s one part not knowing how to tell Billy that he missed the feeling of his stubble against Steve’s neck, his stomach, his thighs, and another that he was afraid he’d scare Billy off. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Missed this too, pretty boy.” Billys voice rumbled against Steves chest. ‘Thought a lot about your pretty little mouth.’ Billy shifts a little, gets an arm around Steve to push him onto his back, grinning as he sees where Steves t-shirt has bunched up around his ribs. ‘Your little fuckin’ waist.’ he grins, pushing the shirt up higher with one hand, the other pressing Steve down by his hip.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>Billy</em>’ Steve whines, a flush appearing below his neck, lids heavy as he looks up at Billy.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Is this what you want, baby? Need someone to take care of you?’ He asks, faux sweetly. ‘You didn’t get any while I was gone?’ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve knows it’s a game, knows that if Steve even looked at someone for too long whilst he was with Billy, Billy’d get moody, say he’d have to go, then ditch him at the arcade or the quarry. Still, he whines louder and squirms under Billys grip on his hip, can feel himself get hard in his sweats. He <em>didn’t </em>get any whilst Billy was gone.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve shakes his head. He can see how hard Billy is. That takes a little edge off his embarrassment. Billy grins down at him. ‘You all mine, princess?’ </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve makes a little noise in the back of his throat, arching up underneath him, flush from his cheeks creeping down his neck. ‘<em>Billy</em>, stop it’ he whines.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Nah, I don’t think I <em>will</em> stop it.’ Billy drawls. He moves quickly to straddle Steves waist, one hand holding Steves shoulder to the bed whilst his other hand pushes the waistband of his own briefs down his thighs, exposing his hard cock. Billy gets a hand around it, pulling slowly. He spits down onto his hand to ease the friction. ‘You gonna let me come in your pussy again?’ Billy groans.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Billy, <em>stop!</em>’ Steve goes crimson. He hates it when Billy talks like this. Makes him out to be like one of Billy’s girls that come round the pool on Billys shift, hoping that he’ll come down from lifeguard chair and fuck them in the staff bathroom on his break.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Steve doesn’t try to wriggle out of Billys strong grip, he looks up at Billys cock, and feels at least a little pleased that Billy wants him too, or just pleased that he can be on the receiving end of Billys attention.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I gotta jack off into something, baby. You want me to come in your mouth instead?’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy’s stroking himself faster now, eyes locked on Steves. He moves his hand from Steves shoulder to push a finger down against Steves tongue, sliding easily past Steve’s plush lips. Steve sucks automatically, feeling a little swell of pride when he hears Billy groan in response, the sound of his hand around his cock getting slicker. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy pushes another finger deep into Steves mouth, fingertips grazing over the back of Steves throat. Steve coughs and jerks, twisting his head to the side. Billys hand grabs his chin and yanks Steve back to face him. ‘Not gonna let me come in your mouth either? Fine.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy keeps Steve’s head firmly in place with one hand, so Steve can watch the precome dribble down Billys dick. Steve <em>loves</em> the attention, loves that he’s sure he’s the only one that tolerates Billy getting like this. Suspect that he’s the only guy in Hawkins that Billy does this to, maybe the only <em>person</em>. He looks up at Billy, watching as he pants open mouthed, eyes glazed over and focusing on his hand. Steve knows he’s getting close, and hopes that Billy’s not going to come in his hair again. He just got out of the shower for Christs’ sake.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy squeezes Steves chin, biting his lower lip as he lets out a quiet moan. Steve watches as come splatters onto his torso, a little landing on his shirt still bunched up under his armpits. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It feels claiming, like, Steve<em> knows </em>Billy’s not subtle about being possessive. Billy tucks himself back into his briefs before he sets about rubbing his warm come into Steves skin with one hand.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve whines loudly, grimacing at the sensation of cooling come being rubbed into him. ‘That’s so fuckin’ <em>gross</em>, Billy, I just fuckin’ showered.’ He sighs, trying to get his elbows underneath him and move out from under Billys hands. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Don’t be such a little <em>bitch</em>, Harrington.’ Billy grabs him round the middle, pushing him back into the mattress. ‘I’ll clean you up later.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve wrinkles his nose. ‘So fuckin’ gross’ he murmurs</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You love it.’</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Steve's needy and anxious, we get it. I'm trying to write more about the switch that happens in this chapter where Steve goes from anxious bb that needs soothing to him deciding that he'll do *anything* to keep people close.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Afternoon Shift</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve didn’t <em>get</em> to come. Billy fell asleep, his face pressed into pillow, snoring softly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve watches him for a while, before getting up and wiping the come off his stomach with a wet towel. He gets back into bed, turning over to face the wall. Can’t stand to look at Billy when he’s trying to think rationally. He can’t read Billy. He doesn’t get what Billy wants from him, why Billy doesn’t wanna call it anything, why Billy wont take him seriously. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve thinks back to one of the first times he had tried to talk to Billy. Billy had gone silent, then when Steve had pushed a little harder, Billy got <em>mad</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>‘I’m not like any of your girlfriends, you know why we moved here from California?’</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve jerks awake to the noise of Billy loudly snoring in his ear, pressed up against his back, heavy arm thrown Steve’s chest. He slides out from underneath him, letting Billy roll over and lie spread eagle over the covers, taking up about as much space as possible. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve goes downstairs to make breakfast, he tries to ignore what happened last night, tries real hard to focus on ladling the pancake mix into the frying pan. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he comes back upstairs, Billy’s under the covers, eyes closed but body stretching slowly under the light coming in through the bedroom blinds. Billy blinks slowly at the sound of the plate being placed down onto the beside table. Smiling and reaching out with a hand to tear away a piece of the pancake on top. He eats with his head still on the pillow, ignoring Steve pointedly staring at how many crumbs he’s getting on the bedsheets. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Do you want one?’ Billy grins, mouth still full.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘So fuckin’ rude’ Steve sighs, getting into bed, moving the plate onto his lap. ‘Did you drive back? Did you eat anything before you got here?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy swallows. ‘Yeah, I drove. Uh, not anything real. California food’s the best, but it gets worse and worse the closer you get to Indiana’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve rolls his eyes. ‘Enjoy your breakfast.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy finishes licking the syrup from each of his fingertips, looking up at Steve sat against the headboard. ‘Sorry I fell asleep so quick.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve blinks, Billy hardly <em>ever</em> apologises. ‘It’s fine, you were tired. I’m glad you came here. Sorry I was acting like a little bitch’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy shrugs with one shoulder. ‘I was thinking about what you were sayin' last night. You coming to Cali.’ Billy reaches for another pancake from Steve’s lap. ‘You should do it. Take some of daddy’s money and split an apartment with me.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You just want to get out of here the cheapest way how.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Yeah, but it’d be nice with you.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You can barely stand to be seen with me in <em>Hawkins,</em> how are you gonna deal with me tagging along with you and you <em>real </em>friends.<em>’</em></span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a low blow, but Steve’s tired. He’s done this before, the whole pinning all your hopes onto one person, trying to fix a future. ‘I don’t wanna just move out to California, then get stuck there when you realise that you can do a lot better.’ Steve thought he’d feel embarrassed now that he’s finally being honest. He just feels <em>tired.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘We talked about this last night.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘No we didn’t. I talked about it, then you jizzed all over me’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy snorts. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘It’s not funny.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Can you stop being such a fag?’ Billy snaps ‘Is this cause you didn’t come? You want me to jerk you off so you can calm down?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve rolls his eyes and pushes the plate away. He gets up off the bed and starts grabbing clothes from his dresser. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy sits up. ‘Stop trying to have an argument with me then running away when you get upset. I’m asking you to come with me, I’m asking you to move in with me.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy gets out of bed, kicking his bag out of the way. ’We can’t do the things I want us to do here. Not in Hawkins, not with Neil. Maybe you don’t get that sometimes you can’t just do whatever you want. Maybe when you don’t have the Chief of police wrapped around your little finger, you have to follow the rules.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Oh sorry, <em>law abiding citizen</em> <em>Billy Hargrove.’</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Quit it, Steve.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve moves towards the bathroom door. ‘I’m going to work.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You’re not going anywhere until you get back here.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘That doesn’t even make any se-‘ Steve didn’t realise how quickly Billy had gotten up behind him. Billy grabs him around the chest, hauling him up and muscling him back onto the bed while Steve struggles against him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Why you gotta be such a fuckin’ brat, huh?’ He’s grabbing at Steves wrists, pressing them down beside his head.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Fuck you, let <em>go</em> of me!’ Steve spits.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billys straddling his waist, leaning down to really press Steve into the comforter. It’s a sly move. Billy<em> knows </em>that Steve likes being pressed down, likes being weighted.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He came into Steves room one night during a storm last summer, the light reflections of the pool bouncing off of Steves ceiling. The closet was thrown open, sheets and comforters piled onto the bed, brown hair peeking out of the top.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy ended up on his ass when he tried to move the covers back. Steve pushed him onto the floor with surprising force, all wild eyed and panicked breaths, before squinting into the dark and recognising Billy. Billys’ eyes darted from Steve to the bat with nails that had been under the covers with Steve. Billy had slowly pieced together that Steve sleeps better when he’s spooned or just straight up almost smothered, he’s less wriggly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve sort of settles, his breathing slows, wriggling subsiding.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘There you go.’ Billy's pressing small kisses into the crook of Steve’s neck, the shell of his ear, his hairline, over the scar he put there six months ago.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Don’t call me a fag’ Steve murmurs after a while. ‘Like, other than anything, it’s not even true.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Alright, fine, you’re not a fag. At least not a whole one.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve huffs a laugh against Billy’s cheek. Billy watches his eyes close. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I’m gonna take you to California, gonna make you try tacos’ Billy says softly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I’ve <em>had</em> tacos, dumbass.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Not real ones.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A small smile appears on Steve’s face. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I’m gonna throw you in the ocean’ Billy teases.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘No’ Steve whines, muffled through the fabric of Billys collar.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy doesn’t stop, tilting his head to press up against Steve’s ear under the sheets. ’Gonna put sunscreen on your cheeks, on your nose. Gonna take real good care of you.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve pouts, sniffs, tries to hide in Billys shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy’s not soft often, only when he wants to manipulate people into doing shit. Steve’s seen him in action, flirting with the librarian Mrs Clark so he can get out of paying his late fees. The only difference between Steve and Mrs Clark is that Steve has nothing to offer, except his share of the rent. He doesn’t get it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You know, at my old high school,’ Billy murmurs between kisses pressed to Steve’s throat, his hands leaving Steves’ wrists to pull down the collar of his tshirt with Billys fingertip ‘they had this programme, where they’d pay you to teach basketball to the high school kids after you graduated.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I’m not good enough.’ Steve </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I’m gonna<em> make</em> you good enough’ Billy purrs, nipping lightly at his neck before letting Steve’s collar ping back into place.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy knows that Steve needs a routine. He needs to eat, make sure he gets enough sleep, leaves the house on days he doesn’t work. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Gonna get you in a pair of roller-skates and tiny red shorts. Can’t wait to see you going up and down the beach front in Venice’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Don’t need to get any, I can just borrow yours’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy giggles, tongue licking over the sharp edge of his front teeth. He moves over Steve, pausing when he feels his thigh press up against Steve’s erection. He grins, ‘you gettin hard thinking about me in my uniform, Harrington?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve whines, smiling and trying to push Billy away, gasping when Billy pushes his thigh up against him more forcefully. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You’re on top of me, what do you expect?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Expect some goddamn respect. ‘Specially when I’m talking about our life plans together’ he giggles.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy slides a hand between them, palming over Steve as he looks up at him. Steves' lashes are fanned against his cheeks, plush pink mouth opened slightly. Lets out little noises when Billy squeezes gently over him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy’s desperate to hear more, so he braces him arm under Steve’s neck, pulls him down so that they’re face to face. Steve makes a little noise at being jostled around, stretching and adjusting his neck over Billys thick forearm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy brings his left hand up, licking his palm before sliding it under Steves boxers and getting a hand around him. Steve makes this choked out little moan, eyes opening to look up at Billy, tilting his chin up to silently ask for a kiss.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy snorts, brushing his thumb over the tip of Steve’s cock before leaning down to suck on Steve’s lower lip, starting to pump his fist slowly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve’s always been a sucker for kissing. It was one of the things that Billy wasn’t really into before Steve. When Steve had first kissed him outside of foreplay, it felt weird, more intimate than he’d expected. Steve kissed him like he was a girl, all gentle and guiding in the back of the Beemer. It was only until Billy bit hard at his lower lip, drawing blood, Steve gasping as he pulls away to dab at his mouth with his fingertips, that Billy had pulled him back in. Fingers laced in brown hair, lapping at the raw spot with his tongue and kissing Steve back all control and commanding, pushing Steves’ thighs apart and moving up and into the space between them. Billy taught Steve how to <em>not</em> be gentle. How to bite back, bite <em>harder. </em>That he didn’t <em>need</em> to be all soft touches and furtive glances. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve pants through his nose, tickling the moustache on Billy’s upper lip. Billy pulls back to look down at him, to <em>really </em>look at him. Steve’s got his arms resting lazily either side of his head, lips a little swollen, a flush high on his cheeks. The <em>picture</em> of a pillow princess, huffing out these little whimpers as Billy begins to stroke him faster. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>‘Billy’ </em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You want it how we did it last time, baby?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve jerks out a nod. He brings a hand down to push his boxers down his thighs, letting Billy bat his hand away when Billy moves back and peels Steves boxers off his long legs, tossing them to the floor. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy crawls over him, opening up the bedside drawer and grabbing the little tin of Vaseline.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘This better not be empty.’ Billy grunts, opening up the pot, feeling a weird kind of relief that more or less the same amount is still in there as last time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gets a good amount on his fingers, warming it up, using his other hand to push Steves’ thighs apart. ‘You been good while I’ve been gone?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy presses a couple fingers to Steve's hole, grins as Steve’s breath hitches. He starts circling the rim, his other hand clamped firmly on the inside of Steve’s thigh. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Who else in Hawkins is gonna do this.’ Steve whines, throwing an arm over his face. Billy lets him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy snorts, pushing in with his fingertips as Steve’s moan gets muffled in the sleeve of his tshirt. ‘You got <em>Tommy</em>.’ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>Gross, </em>Billy. Don’t ruin this.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy pumps his fingers in a little further, up to the second knuckle. Steve’s got a line between his eyebrows, like he’s concentrating real hard. He damn near yelps when Billy brings his hand from Steve’s thigh to around his cock again, beginning to pump slowly in tandem with his fingers inside Steve.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You gonna be good when you come with me to Cali? You not gonna start whoring around?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>Billy</em>.’ Steve whines, arching up, hands clutching the pillow above his head. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I don’t know, Harrington. There’s a lot of hot guys there, hot <em>girls</em> too.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Don't want it any other way.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You <em>sure</em> about that?’ Billy crooks his fingers up, pushing in further and earning a loud whimper from Steve.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Yeah, yeah, only you, fuck, <em>fuck.’ </em>Steve squeezes his eyes shut.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>He’s close,</em> Billy thinks. Knows that Steve likes it when he’s being humiliated. Likes it even <em>more </em>when Billy embarrasses him enough into some kind of confession. Like when Steve kept giving Billy free cones of ice cream in the summer, insisting that they were cones that were <em>going bad anyway, </em>had acted all casual and nonchalant until the girl behind the register had rolled her eyes and said <em>how exactly do ice cream cones go bad, dingus. </em>Billy had grinned at Steve, taking the cone in his hand and licking a long, slow stripe where a little pistachio ice cream had melted down the side. Steve had watched him, open mouthed. He’d gone beet red before awkwardly excusing himself and darting into the break room. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve moans loudly as he comes, bending up off the bend, squirming underneath Billy as he strokes Steve through it. When he opens his eyes, Billy’s grinning down at him, tongue between his teeth, his hand has left Steves dick, but his fingers are pushing into him again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I wanna fuck you.’ Billy murmurs.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve whines, pouting at Billys fingers, it feels like it’s on the edge of <em>too much. </em>He really just wants to sleep, wants to curl up around Billy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘C’mon princess, what happened to <em>only you</em>?’ Billy puts on a falsetto, a bad impression of Steve. His fingers still pumping in and out of him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steves’ limbs feel heavy, his legs splayed open on the bed, t-shirt damp with cooling come. Billy leans down to kiss at him, massages over that point in Steve that makes Steve feel like he’s gonna explode. He feels fucking<em> gross, </em>but he loves having Billy all up and around him, all pressure and warmth. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Alright, just—‘ Steve says between kisses, pushing Billy away with his palms flat on Billys chest, rolling over onto his stomach, cringing slightly when the damp spot on his t-shirt presses against his skin. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve almost hears Billy purr. His hips are grabbed and pulled as Billy shoves a pillow underneath them. He’s half aware of Billy murmuring <em>you’re so good </em>and the sound of the Vaseline being opened again. Billy plants a hand next to Steves head, grunts as he guides the tip in. Steve angles his hips up, biting his sore lower lip and turning his head to look up at Billy. He’s concentrating, mouth open as he slowly pushes into Steve. It’s the only time that Steve’s seen him look even a little vulnerable. Maybe Steve’s projecting, trying to get onto some level playing field now that he’s gone and admitted there’s no-one else he wants to do this with, in Hawkins or California. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy hitches one of Steves knees up underneath him. He’s got his chest flush against Steve’s back, face tucked into Steve’s neck, one arm tucked crossed under Steves chest. Billy could probably plank over Steve for hours, he’s so fucking ripped. Steve feels safe tucked up under Billy. He’s kinda grateful he can’t move, ‘cause he doesn’t think he would if he could. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve kinda floats for a bit, lets himself get manoeuvred around by Billy. It’s all pressure, all heat, Billy murmuring in his ear about how <em>good</em> he is, how <em>sweet</em> he’s being. It just sets Steve off into another plain of existence. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy comes, grunting into the crook of Steves neck, nosing at the hair on Steve’s nape. He moves Steve to lay on their sides, Billy spooned up behind Steve. Billy’s quiet for a while, pulling out of Steve slowly, reaching over the bed to pull his cigarettes from his duffel bag on the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve’s about to fall asleep when he hears, </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You’re gonna feel differently when you get there.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve turns over, blinking slowly over at Billy, he’s sat up against the headboard. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘What?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I said’ Billy exhales smoke, ‘you’re gonna feel different. About me.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘What about you?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>Christ</em>, Steve.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I’m not gonna feel different.’ Steve sits up, reaching for Billy’s cigarette. ‘I mean, you can fuck whoever you want, but I’m not gonna feel different.’ Steve presses his lips to Billys fingers and takes a drag.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘I haven’t.’ Billy pauses ‘I mean, I haven’t been with anyone else. Since we started.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve laughs, stops when Billy shoots him sharp glance.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘You’re saying it’s not me, it’s Hawkins.’ Steve asks</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘It’s Hawkins, Neil, Max.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘She’s a good kid.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘She’s still my step-sister.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘She wouldn’t tell.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy crushes out the cigarette on the bedside table, moves to lay down and scoop Steve up against him. ‘I’m not running that risk, Harrington. You’re gonna come with me.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘That still depends. You gonna introduce me to your friends as your roommate, or your boyfriend?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Gonna introduce you as my maid.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Billy!’ Steve whines.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Alright, alright, my <em>boyfriend</em>, Steve Harrington.’ Billy giggles, grinning at Steve and pulling him closer and hitching his leg over Steves stomach. They settle there, with Steve slowly running his fingers through Billys hair.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">-</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy wakes up suddenly. He looks over at the alarm clock. <em>12:07. </em>He shoves Steves shoulder, getting a groan in response, Steve turns over and pulls the covers over his head.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>‘Hey,</em> Steve.’ Billy pulls the covers down, turns Steve over by his shoulder. He’s got hair everywhere, a little wet spot around the corner of his mouth. It’d be cute if Steve wasn’t so frustrating. ‘When does your shift start?’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve half opens his eyes, pauses. ’I’m actually taking the afternoon shift.’ He says guiltily.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy huffs out a laugh, flopping back down on the bed. ‘You’re such a fuckin’ drama queen.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Drama <em>princess</em>.’ Steve mumbles, brings the cover up to his chin, closes his eyes again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘Let me drive you to work. I’ll pick you up later and we can go get pizza.’ Billy says, moving his hands underneath Steves armpits, hauling him up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve hums, letting Billy pull him up out of bed and move him into the shower. Steve’s moves sluggishly - he still has his eyes closed in the <em>shower </em>- where Billy moves with a near military routine. Steve carelessly shoves his uniform into his bag whilst Billy looks on in amusement.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve slumps into the passenger seat of the Camaro, goes to put a tape into the stereo when he sees the Polaroid firmly taped to the dashboard. It’s the first one Billy took of him, the first one he was <em>allowed</em> to take of him. Written in neat cursive underneath is the word “<em>Don’t!”.</em></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Part influenced by the Joe Keery falling asleep in the shower story lmao</p><p>¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I don't feel very good about this, but I was determined to finish it. I have a lot of **ideas** but I find it super difficult to really make a coherent narrative? Anyway, I'm very grateful for the amount of feedback this got, when I wasn't expecting any. So thank you so much for reading!</p><p>Also, don’t shake Polaroids. It doesn’t do anything lmao</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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